


What I Want

by Cousin Shelley (CousinShelley)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Diary/Journal, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Female Friendship, Female-Centric, Holly Poly, Holly Poly Assignment, Polyamory, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-05 15:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinShelley/pseuds/Cousin%20Shelley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail tries to figure out what she wants, while Freddie and Alana offer friendship and support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphrodite_mine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/gifts).



* * *

**_What I Want, pg 1_ **

Freddie gave me this book to write in. She said that writing was what saved her from her childhood. I didn’t ask what happened, and she didn’t offer. I’ll ask someday, because I do want to know.

She and Alana have both promised that whatever I write down privately will stay private. I believe them, mostly. I think if either of them thought I was in grave, immediate danger of some kind, they’d read this. That doesn’t make me angry. I would do the same thing, if I thought reading either of their private thoughts could save their lives.

I think any grave danger went with my father. I hope. So I write all this with the firm belief that it will stay private.

I’m calling this book _What I Want_. _Dear Diary_ seems so cliché. _Abigail’s Journal_ , the same. I thought about _Abbie’s Journal_ , because everyone calls me Abigail. Maybe I can just be Abbie when I write. But there’s no need to attach my name to this at all. I know whose book it is. I know whose thoughts they are. And I know who I’m revealing them to. Just me.

The problem is, I don’t know what I want anymore. I hope writing helps me figure that out.

* * *

 

“No, thank you, Miss Lounds.” Alana held the phone between her ear and shoulder, and crossed her arms. No one was there to see her body language, but it was instinct. She sighed and uncrossed them.

“Come on. It’ll do the girl some good--”

Alana laughed, a joyless sound. “I don’t think you’re in any position to decide what’s good for her or not. Taking her to some cabin in the woods so you could manipulate her story out of her--”

“Now, wait a minute. That’s . . . entirely fair.”

Alana opened her mouth to protest, then realized what Freddie Lounds had just said. “What?”

“It’s fair. I don’t blame you for thinking that. But it’s not true. I do care about Abigail. I don’t expect you to believe it, but I do. And to show that . . . you take her to the cabin. I can drop off the keys and directions, and the two of you can spend some quality therapy time or whatever it is that you do and she can get out of that place for a while. Just consider it my contribution to her recovery.”

Alana didn’t know what to say at first.

“Come on, Miss Bloom. I cashed in quite a big favor for the use of the place. I have no desire to go there by myself, so . . . use it for her. Okay?”

  

* * *

**_What I Want, pg 2_ **

I’m at a cabin in the woods (I know how that sounds) with Alana and Freddie. Their conversation in the car led me to believe that it was just going to be me and Alana, even though Freddie is the one with the keys to the cabin. But Alana seems to have changed her mind and asked Freddie along.

Freddie seemed giddily pleased about that. Even when Alana quietly explained that she’s not to bring up anything to do with the Minnesota Shrike, my family or my past life, and she’s not to probe if I bring it up. They’ve called a truce, Alana said, for my sake. Freddie said they didn’t need a truce, because there was never a fight. Alana gave her one of those looks that makes my stomach tingle, and Freddie laughed. I liked the sound of it.

They talked about a lot of things they would never say in front of me, said things about Hannibal, Will Graham, me and my well-being, all because I pretended I was napping. I’ve always been good at fooling people. It’s not going to work forever with them, though. The look Freddie gave me when I “woke” makes me think she might already suspect. But she smiled, so I think it’s ok.

* * *

 

Abigail carefully distributed the pastel bills between the three of them. She asked to be the banker, because she had the strangest urge to cheat, just to see if either of them would notice. She gave herself an extra 50, tucked beneath her edge of the board. Easy enough to pretend she miscounted if caught.

Alana and Freddie were too busy to notice, which took all the fun out of cheating in the first place. Alana was examining the little metal tokens, trying to pick her piece. Freddie was headed toward them with three mugs in her hands.

Abigail slipped the blue bill back into the bank, vowing to try again when making change for herself later. She decided if one did notice, it’d be Freddie. She’d probably only smile and wink, as if she might do the same. If Alana noticed, she’d tilt her head a little and give Abigail one of those looks that made her lower stomach feel warm, and wait to see if she’d return it on her own.

“Ooh, hot chocolate,” Alana said brightly, as Freddie gave them each a steaming mug.

“It’s from powder packets, so don’t get too excited. I’m not a cook. The marshmallows are real, though.”

“It’s hot chocolate,” Alana said. “You can’t do it wrong.”

Alana sipped hers and licked her lips, with the most delighted little smile on her face.

“I want the racecar,” Freddie said, snatching it from the little group of tokens. “Abigail?”

“The dog.”

Alana picked up the iron and put it on Start.

“Well, _that_ was predictable.” Freddie snorted and straightened her small stacks of money.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The _iron_ , Alana?”

“It doesn’t fall over.”

“The car doesn’t fall over.”

“You’d already called the car.”

“Would you have chosen it if I hadn’t?”

“I . . . _might have_.”

They stared at each other for a minute, both their mouths open to allow for a snappy comeback, until both their mouths were fighting smiles. Abigail finally started laughing and they moved on to actually begin the game.

“You two could fight over anything, I think. But I’d rather you fight over Monopoly pieces than me,” Abigail said, smiling sweetly, before deciding that since she was the banker, she’d go first.

 

* * *

**_What I Want, pg 3_ **

We spent last night playing games, with a fire crackling in the fireplace and two mugs each of hot chocolate. They argued over Monopoly pieces, whether rice pudding was better than tapioca (I like them both), and, eventually, when they thought I wasn’t paying attention, about Will’s mental state. The silly thing is that they’re arguing but they actually agree. They’re the opposite of my parents. They never agreed on anything, but never argued.

I like this better.

They must have worked out the sleeping arrangements before we got here, because Freddie went to another bedroom, while Alana and I shared a small room with one large bed. She asked three times if I was comfortable with sleeping in the same bed. I wanted to tell her I wished the bed was tiny so I could press close to her while we slept, but I didn’t. I just didn’t lie on the edge when we went to bed, but eased my way toward the middle.

I had a nightmare and woke screaming with Alana’s arms already around me, her saying my name and trying to calm me. Freddie came running in and sat behind me on the bed, stroking my hair. It didn’t take many tears to get them to both stay in the bed with me. I thought Alana was going to refuse, but I just held to her tighter and sobbed a little more, and ended up with her holding me from the front and Freddie against my back.

It was the best sleep I’d had in years.

* * *

 

 “I don’t think I want to play Monopoly today,” Alana said. “You take it a little too seriously.”

“I do not.” Freddie held the box. “I’m just a little competitive, that’s all.”

“A little competitive? _Boardwalk’s mine, bitch. Pay your overlord?”_

“You’re the one who kept landing on it.”

Abigail giggled and said, “I don’t want to play, either. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay, then what would you like to do.” Freddie plopped onto the sofa next to Abigail. Alana already sat on her other side.

“I . . . don’t know.”

Freddie leaned forward. “How about makeovers? We could do our hair and makeup, like a slumber party.”

“Seriously?” Alana asked, but she was smiling.

“Seriously! You don’t think I came without all my makeup, do you?” Freddie dashed into her bedroom and grabbed a small square case.

None of them had worn much makeup that day, but Freddie had worn the most. Less than usual, but enough that it was obvious she’d painted her eyes and lips.

Alana shook her head. “I’m not much for makeovers. You two--”

“Oh, no,” Freddie said. “It’ll be fun. You need to let your hair down a little, Alana. It’s just us girls here.”

“Please?” Abigail said.

Freddie swiped a big fluffy brush over Alana’s nose. “We promise not to tell anyone you did girly things and actually had fun.”

Alana drew back a little as if she might be offended, but then she laughed and let Freddie and Abigail do her makeup. Freddie pulled Alana’s hair up into a messy bun. It draped back from her face in a way that looked loose and easy but somehow formal.

“You’re so beautiful,” Abigail said. “I mean, you always were, but . . . .”

“Thank you,” Alana said with a half-grin. “I know what you mean.”

“You really are beautiful,” Freddie said. The women looked at each other for a long time, with Abigail looking between them, smiling.

 

* * *

**_What I Want, pg 4_ **

I tried to do Freddie’s hair like Alana’s. It looked a lot more formal, because of the spiral curls hanging down, but it was close. Alana mostly did Freddie’s makeup. She used a lot less than Freddie did on her. Then they both did my hair and makeup.

I loved having both of their hands in my hair, on my face. It was thrilling and calming at the same time. They argued about the amount and color of my makeup, but it was more in fun than a real fight.

We all looked beautiful when we stood together and looked in the mirror, arms around each others’ waists. We looked like we belonged together. I said so. Freddie looked happy, Alana looked sad, and I just looked the way I always do, wide-eyed and nervous. I closed my eyes and tightened my arms around their waists, and it felt like a perfect moment.

It’s funny how different they are. Alana is muted and soft. Still. Freddie is brash and bright and hard to track. Where Alana seems so laid back as if waiting for something to react to, Freddie tries too hard. Even their hairstyles show it. Alana’s is softly brushed and natural, while Freddie’s is colored and curled with precision.

They fit together so well, I want to laugh every time I think about it.

* * *

 

“We forgot to talk about boys!” Freddie said, as they lounged back on the couch with more hot chocolate, their various colors of lipstick staining the rims of their mugs. “That’s a necessary part of the slumber party makeover, isn’t it?”

She reached across Abigail with her leg and nudged Alana’s knee with her foot. “I want to hear your boy talk. Surely you have some.”

Before Alana could answer, Abigail blurted, “I don’t really like boys.”

Alana didn’t miss a beat. “No?”

“No. A couple in high school flirted and asked me out.” She shrugged. “I just didn’t like the way they looked at me sometimes. Like I was . . . I don’t know. The same way my father looked at me sometimes. I hated that. One felt me up a little once at a football game. It just reminded me of .  . . well, I didn’t like it.”

“Did your father ever touch you like that?” Freddie’s voice was the softest whisper.

“Freddie!” Alana put her mug on the coffee table. “Abigail, you don’t have to answer that. She should have never asked it.”

The stern look  Alana gave Freddie sent a rush of warmth down Abigail’s body. “It’s okay, really. My father never touched me like that. But I think he wanted to. I think he wanted to for a long time, and . . . he killed girls that looked like me because of it, to keep from doing it. I don’t understand why, but I think that’s what happened. So the thought of a boy wanting the same thing he might have wanted . . . I just don’t like boys that way. I like girls. Women.”

“Okay,” Alana said. “But it’s important to know that all boys, all men, are not like that.”

“I know,” Abigail said.

“If you like women just because you associate all boys with your father--”

“Does it matter?” Abigail asked. “I mean, that’s not it, not totally. I think girls are beautiful. I get excited thinking about them. But even if it was only because I was repulsed by boys, wouldn’t it still be okay?”

Alana nodded. “Of course it would. However you feel is okay, Abigail.”

Freddie stroked Abigail’s hair. “There’s no wrong way to feel,” she offered, and got an approving nod from Alana. The looked at each other over Abigail’s shoulder for what seemed like a long time.

 

* * *

**_What I Want, pg 5_ **

Alana was angry that Freddie asked me that question about my father. Freddie said that I was mature enough to not answer any question I didn’t want to, but that it seemed I wanted to talk about something. I said I had to use the bathroom and stood around the corner to listen instead.

Alana told her how inappropriate her question was, and how bringing things up when I wasn’t ready for them could set me back. Alana didn’t give in and kept scolding her, until finally Freddie said that she should try being my friend instead of my therapist. Said I needed that more, that sometimes someone needs a friend to listen more than anything else. She was crying as she said it.

I wanted Alana to ask Freddie if someone had ever hurt _her_. She didn’t ask. I think something like that happened, though, because Alana leaned close with that concerned look on her face, and told Freddie that she’d be her friend, she’d listen.

They hugged, and Alana breathed, “Freddie,” and when they kissed they were so beautiful. I pressed my fingers between my legs just to feel my heartbeat there.

* * *

 

“Can I come in?” Abigail tapped lightly on the bathroom door.

“Sure,” Freddie answered. She was in the big clawfoot bathtub, the water soapy enough to be slightly opaque. Abigail could still make out the dark rounds of Freddie’s nipples. She stood right next to the tub, openly looking.

“Alana’s thinking about making spaghetti for dinner. That all right with you?”

“Her cooking anything I don’t have to cook is all right with me. Tell her I’ll wash the dishes.”

“Okay.” Abigail took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. Freddie’s skin was flushed from the heat of the water. She looked so beautiful, and Abigail wondered if she were real.

“Something wrong, sweetie?”

“I . . . can I . . . take a bath with you?”

Freddie lifted up a little, an unreadable expression on her face.

“I’m sorry, never mind. I’m probably wrong for asking, I--I just thought it’s a shame there’s not a hot tub here. I’ve always wanted to do that.” She shrugged and turned to go.

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t mind. This or skinny-dipping in a pool or hot tub, not much different, right? Whole families get naked in saunas together in some European countries.” Freddie shrugged and relaxed back in the tub.

“Do you think Alana will--”

“If you’re already in the tub by the time Buzzkill Lightyear realizes it, what can she say?” Freddie’s smile made it clear she was only teasing about Alana.

 

* * *

**_What I Want, pg 6_ **

I curled against Freddie in the bathtub and felt so warm and good I could have fallen asleep. It was exciting to feel my skin slide against hers. She didn’t touch me in any way sexually, but I didn’t need that. I just wanted to be against her, close and intimate.

After a few minutes, I looked up at her and leaned up enough to kiss her. My lips slid a little on hers, which were shiny with a strawberry-flavored gloss. I didn’t think about doing it before I did it. The urge came, and I acted.

I said I was sorry, but she smiled and said it was okay. We were both close to dozing, I think, when Alana knocked.

Freddie stiffened a little, but didn’t push me away. When Alana opened the door, she sighed, her mouth open, and shook her head.

“This isn’t appropriate. Freddie, Abigail, this just--”

“If you and I were in a tub together, would it be inappropriate?” Freddie stroked my hair. I loved it when she did that.

“Her age, Freddie.”

“We’re not doing anything inappropriate, Alana. It’s like being close in a small hot tub. Besides, her age is more than a number. She's hardly a child." Freddie looked at me apologetically after she said it.

Alana was throwing her angry eyes the whole time, as if she were saying something that might make my head explode. It was cute, even though she didn't need to worry. I’m hardly a typical teenager, and everyone knows it. There’s not much point in pretending I ever could be again.

Alana started to protest, but Freddie said, “Get in with us.”

“No, I’m not about to do that.”

“Okay, then don’t. But don’t act as if we’re doing something wrong. Sometimes a girl just needs a close friend, Alana, not a therapist.”

I smiled at Alana. “It just feels really nice. Safe. Is that wrong?”

They stared at each other over that, until Alana came in and knelt by the side of the tub, her hand on the edge. “No, Abigail. It’s not wrong to feel that way.”

I sighed and relaxed against Freddie again. I felt Alana stroke my hair, and then Freddie’s. She wet a cloth and stroked our shoulders with it for a few minutes. Longer than she needed to. Then she simply knelt there, her fingers dangling in the water, sometimes brushing Freddie’s arm.

When we got out, I didn’t feel the urge to cover myself. Alana wrapped me in a big fluffy towel and pressed a kiss to the top of my forehead. “Oh, Abigail,” she whispered.

Freddie rose from the tub slower than I had, not covering herself either. Alana wrapped her in a towel, and they stood close together for a minute. I left to dress in the bedroom, and they didn’t come out for a while. I put the spaghetti on.

* * *

 

Everyone had dressed in their sleepwear. Freddie stood in the bigger bedroom with Abigail and Alana to wish them good night.

“I don’t want to have another nightmare.”

Alana stroked Abigail’s arm. “You don’t know that you will.”

“But I could.”

“You could no matter what.”

“True. But I think if you both sleep in the bed with me, it’s less likely.”

“You do, do you?” The corner of Freddie’s mouth was turned up.

“Yes.” Abigail laughed. “It’s my theory, anyway.”

“And you’re sticking to it?” Alana asked.

“Something like that. I felt safe between the two of you last night. Can’t we just do that again without me having to wake up screaming first?”

Freddie shrugged. “I’m game.” She walked to the side of the bed where she’d been the night before.

“I’m not sure it’s a good habit to get into, Abigail. I don’t want you to have sleep problems when--”

“Alana.” Freddie leaned up on one elbow and patted the bed. “She’s not developing an addiction here. She just wants to feel safe. With close friends.”

Abigail crawled in and let herself be held in Freddie’s arms. It took a little longer for Alana, but soon the bed dipped and her arm went over Abigail’s waist, set next to Freddie’s arm.

Abigail felt them move, their hands touching each others’ arms in more than a casual brushing. She smiled and rested her cheek against Freddie’s chest, felt Alana move close behind her. She didn’t dream.

 

* * *

**_What I Want, pg 7_ **

Freddie and Alana kiss when they think I’m in the other room or asleep. They’re so beautiful, and I feel so safe between them, whether we’re awake or in bed. I’m happy here, and already dreading going back. We have two more days of hot chocolate, Monopoly, and arguments about whether Alana is repressed or Freddie is an exhibitionist. They do this, then remember I’m there, and it feels so good to be overlooked like that for even just a few minutes. To not be the biggest thing in the room for a change. It makes me happy.

Watching them watch each other makes me happy. Imagining what they’ll do with each other when they’re alone, makes me happy.

As does imagining I’m there between them, no matter what they’re doing. Not the biggest thing in the room, just a part of the whole.

I only ever really wanted things not to happen. Not to help kill. Not to die. Not to be my father’s daughter. Not to have to pretend in front of every single person I knew, in one way or another.

Now I know what I want _to happen_. I want to feel as happy and safe as I do when I see them together, and think of how well I fit between them. I want to be me for a change. They’re letting me. They’re trying. For that, I want to be able to love them both.

Maybe I already do.

* * *

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Jan. 5th, Holly Poly assignment.


End file.
